His Witch
by LillySteam44
Summary: Tom Riddle always gets he wants, by any means necessary
1. Chapter 1

Hermione was where she always was on a Friday afternoon, or really, any afternoon. She settled herself in her favorite section of the library, Ancient Runes, and tried in vain to search through the most helpful of resource books, though it didn't answer any of her real questions about the subject. She suspected if those answers were in the Hogwarts library, they were hidden in the Restricted Section. She had a bigger suspicion there was no way she could convince Professor McGonagall to give her permission for open access to the locked section.

"Granger," a familiar, normally disinterested voice said in a whispered tone. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, barely, at Malfoy as she lifted her gaze from the book in her hands to the blonde wizard. He'd settled into the chair across from her.

"What do you want?" Just quiet enough not to draw Madam Pince's attention, a well practiced skill for Hermione.

"I saw you struggling with the library's pickings, so I thought I'd offer help," he told her. She sighed, and closed the book in her hands. "I have books straight from the Malfoy library, for every one of my NEWTs. And a few for Ancient Runes."

"There's no way you could have just stumbled upon me. You can't see the Ancient Runes section from the entrance," she noted. "And why would Draco Malfoy want to help someone currently beating him in the class ranking?"

"I've let go of my hopes for the top spot. Riddle's too good," he reminded her. She, however, didn't need to be reminded of her constant struggle to keep the top spot the past year, as the honor traded on and off between herself and the transfer student.

"That didn't answer either of my questions. Why help me?" she frowned at him intently. "And don't say because you feel like it. Sirius once told me that Malfoys don't get out of bed in the morning without at least three good reason." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that mirrored something Harry might do.

"Fine. It's impossible to get anywhere in politics these days without obvious half blood and muggle born sympathies," he admitted, completely forgetting to regulate his volume. It earned him a glare and a shush from Madam Pince. Hermione ignored it.

"But I'd get access to the books, right? No real strings?" she asked, maintaining the same volume she had despite her growing excitement.

"They're technically Malfoy heirlooms, so I can't let you take them back to Gryffindor Tower," he told her.

"What about after graduation?"

"I don't think-"

"It's a shame, Minister. Malfoy is just too set in the old ways," Hermione said in a saccharine tone.

"Fine. Deal," he agreed. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're ruthless, Granger."

"Oh Draco, if anyone's going to believe we're friends, you must call me Hermione."

Hermione almost started to regret her decision when they finally reached the Slytherin common room. She'd stepped through the entrance as Draco held the door that had appeared when he said the password, and Hermione was definitely not used to seeing Draco the Gentleman. She froze when she realized nearly every seventh year Slytherin was gathered on the expensive looking leather couches. Riddle, it seemed, was the one holding court. The panic didn't really set in until she heard Draco shut the door behind her.

"Were you lying about the books?" she asked, frowning and looking back at Draco. She even started to reach into her bag for her wand. Draco merely waved her over towards an empty chair settled between a table stacked with books and a chair where Riddle sat.

The books, it seemed, were too big of a draw and they kept Hermione from bolting for the door. It was her Gryffindor courage that let her take the seat settled between pleasure and torture.

"Want a glass?" The blonde girl, Greengrass, er, Daphne, asked from the couch, gesturing to a bottle of wine on the table. "It came from our vineyards in France. All elf made, of course."

Hermione opened her mouth to admonish the use of slave labor but thought better of picking a fight in a den of snakes.

"That would be lovely," she settled on.

* * *

Hermione settled against Tom, in the crook where his shoulder met his neck, as her hand rested on his chest, her fingers started to trace circles in his light patch of chest hair.

"Gods, that was fantastic," she drawled. She closed her eyes to focus on the left over bliss. He smirked and snaked his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm that good?" He teased. "Better than your jocks?"

"I mean, I've never-" she stuttered. "You were my first." His smirk drifted into a proud smile. She'd only ever been his. His witch. "I meant that _magic_ ," she continued. "That was dark magic?"

"Sort of. It's old magic, which has mostly been labeled dark," he explained. "This kind of magic can't be controlled easily or even really taught. Magic, especially at first, was for survival, protecting, procreating." She sat up suddenly to look him in the eyes.

"You did not just get me pregnant." It was all he could do not to laugh at her serious expression. That sort of outburst would get him nowhere.

"No, it's about intent, mostly. And the potion you take every month is a tad bit more nuanced than what we just did," he told her. He'd tell her he was sterile later. She settled back against him.

"Does Dark magic all feel that good?" She asked, as though she was trying with difficulty to keep a casual tone.

"For the caster? Absolutely. It usually feels less good for the recipient, or the source of power, in some cases. This, however," he reached down with his empty hand and she gasped when he pushed two fingers into her, "gets better and better as you learn how to use your raw magic." A blush spread across her face, and her hands stopped tracing circles.

"Tom, I'm a mess," she protested as he continued to play with her.

"Oh no, I'm terrified of a mess I created," he hissed, and pulled her tighter to him. Her protests turned to cries of his name, and dissolved into an inability to do more than moan against his skin.

"Come for me, Hermione," he ordered, and nearly immediately, she stiffened for a few moments and then completely relaxed. Several minutes went by, and he feared she'd fallen asleep from night's activities.

"You're going to make me an addict, Tom," she finally said. He withdrew his fingers from her, and muttered a cleaning spell for both her and himself.

"What if I want you to be?" He said. "For me?"

"I can't lose focus on my NEWTs," she declared, still cuddled against him. "I'm not going to let you have the top spot."

"You wouldn't be the witch I'm interested if you did either of those things. And I think let is a strong word. I'm going to win anyways."

She responded with a tired and unintelligible noise.

"Is that a yes?"

When she didn't reply, he conceded she likely fell asleep. That was okay for now. Of course, he had a plan for the morning. Slytherin girls prefer games and layers of meaning, while Hufflepuffs like a slow seduction and Ravenclaws need banter and witty exchanges. None of that would work for a Gryffindor, though. They responded best to grand, romantic displays. His witch liked them, even if she didn't like public ones. She would be his witch, even if she wasn't, quite yet.


	2. Bonus Chapter

**A/N: I hadn't planned on writing a further parts to this, but I couldn't be happier with the feedback! This is a present to my lovely reviewers, hopefully you guys like it as much as the first part. Much love to Colburina for recommending His Witch on Tumblr!**

Hermione sat, her legs neatly crossed at the ankles, in Professor Dumbledore's office. She certainly didn't make a habit of spending her afternoons in his office, and certainly never for rule breaking. In fact, the only time she'd ever been in his office was when she'd accepted her Head Girl badge. Perhaps if she'd had this sort of meeting a month ago, before she started seeing Tom, she might have nervously babbled about her perceived wrong doings. Instead, she gave the old wizard a polite, if bland smile, and waited for him to speak first.

"I do hope your classes are going well, Miss Granger," he started after a moment. "I've been told you've fallen from your spot at the top of your class."

"My classes are going very well, sir, but no, I'm not currently at the top of the class. I'm sure you're aware that I've been trading the honor on and off with Tom Riddle all year," she told him, and smiled brightly. She tried to push down her growing temper.

"I see. I was merely worried your extended stays in the Slytherin common room."

"Sir, are you implying I shouldn't be spending time with my other Slytherin classmates?" She let her eyes go wide, in a mockery of surprise. It was easier to quell her anger with sarcasm than feigned happiness. "It's only a study group, something that Draco and I have set up for some of our more struggling classmates."

"I didn't realize you and Mr. Malfoy spent much time together. If I remember correctly, it was your biggest hesitation in accepting your position this year," he reminded her.

"As Head Boy, he's worked to put his past prejudices aside. I won't say that he's perfect, but it unfair for you to still see the twelve year old he used to be," she said in a concerned tone.

"I'm afraid it isn't about Mr. Malfoy. I'm urging you to be careful with Mr. Riddle," the older wizard finally told her. She kept herself, barely, from letting her jaw drop.

"I don't see how my personal life is any business of the headmaster's," Hermione said. She realized too late, she'd dropped her cover over her emotions. She'd narrowed her eyes at Professor Dumbledore, and an unshakeable frown had formed on her face. "Tom has been nothing but pleasant to me since he transferred here."

"I assure you that he's not what he appears to be. Tom Riddle is not a normal transfer student. I taught him, when he went to Hogwarts originally before he disappeared in 1944." Dumbledore's voice was calm and even, but it still felt like an attack. Hermione didn't take time to register her shock.

"I assume it wasn't intentional," Hermione declared, after only a short silence. "Or he'd been in Azkaban, instead of in the dungeons helping Greg try to pass Care of Magical Creatures."

There was another silence, as Hermione continued to glare at Professor Dumbledore, and he, in turn, looked at her with what she assumed he meant as grandfatherly concern.

"Now that you've revealed Tom's deep, dark secret, am I free to go?" She asked, already reaching for her school bag.

"Of course, Miss Granger. My office is always open, if you find yourself in need of assistance."

"I'll keep that in mind, Professor." With no further pleasantries, Hermione pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stalked out of his office. It wasn't until she was halfway to the dungeons, that her anger started to seep back into her thoughts. By the time she'd reached the Slytherin common room entrance, she was probably more angry than she had been while talking to the Headmaster.

Which was unfortunate for Vincent, who was in the middle of a joke about a werewolf, a mudblood and a unicorn to some fifth year that Hermione didn't really care to know.

"What was that, Vince?" Hermione said. Her voice was quiet, but she was unable to keep her emotions from being obvious in her tone. Vince tried to stammer out an excuse, it was a joke, he wasn't insulting her, and so on. Blaise was a welcome distraction, when he happened out of the boy's dorm hallway.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Tom is, would you?" She asked, as kindly as she could manage to the tall, dark boy. "I need his help with something."

Blaise disappeared back into the dorms, and didn't return when Tom emerged a minute or so later. She didn't mind too much, during her frequent visits to Slytherin house Blaise had managed not to use the slur in her presence.

"What can I help you with, darling?" Tom asked. He glanced from her to Vince, still stammering quietly.

"I think Vince needs some review tonight, and I don't know if I can handle it all on my own. Would you come study with us?" She asked.

"Anything for you. Maybe a classroom in the Arithmancy corridor. Those classes are done for the day, so we're not likely to be interrupted," he offered.

"Good. I would hate for Vince to lose out on review."

* * *

Tom gently held Hermione's hand as he walked her back to Gryffindor Tower. They'd spent nearly all afternoon teaching Vince his lesson, and she was looking more worn out than normal.

"I saw Dumbledore today," she said simply. She paused, unsure how to tell him the whole thing.

"And what did our illustrious headmaster want from you?" Tom replied. He was good at hiding his emotions, much better than she was, but Hermione was starting to learn his tells. The sorts of things that were impossible to truly hide. Little bits of sweat started to form on his temples when he was anxious or excited about something, and it was starting to appear now.

"He warned me about you. Made it seem like you had deep dark secrets, you know?" She told him. "But after this afternoon, I really decided that I don't really care."

"You don't care?"

"Well, obviously I care, but they're your secrets. If you aren't cheating on me, you can keep them at your own leisure."

Tom didn't respond for a few minutes. They just walked in silence. Sooner than she really wanted, they approached the Fat Lady.

"I wouldn't," he told her. "You're mine, and I wouldn't do that to you."

For the first time since she'd met him, he sounded oddly vulnerable and sweet. She resisted the smirk that wanted to form, that mirrored his when she said emotional things.

"If you did, I'd kill you," she told him.

"Likewise, darling."


End file.
